


Hero Complex

by tygermine



Series: HMS Dramione [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Care of Magical Creatures, Cats, Curse Breaking, F/M, Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Harry Potter, Modern Era, Murder Mystery, Politics, Post-Hogwarts, Unspeakable is another name for Spy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-07 20:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tygermine/pseuds/tygermine
Summary: Hermione is trying to keep her Menagerie from closing down. In an effort to stop this, she stumbles onto a murder, political games and a missing persons case.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: HMS Dramione [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1595287
Comments: 47
Kudos: 122
Collections: Round 11 2019





	1. Lemongrass Does Not Keep Cats Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Darkrivertempest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrivertempest/gifts).

> This story kicked my butt because of the amazing prompts I got. It should by all rights be a lot longer, but the word limit got in the way. I may expand on it in the new year.
> 
> A billion thanks to my amazing betas Purpleyin and Technicolourrain who put up with my whining and bad typing skills.
> 
> A special thanks to Ningloreth for hosting this round and being all amazing mod for this fest.
> 
> To Darkrivertempest, who requested this - I only hope this made you smile and did your prompts justice.
> 
> Suspend your disbelief and enjoy.

“That cat is back,” called Charlie as he stepped through the back door cradling a baby Namibian Sandbagger dragon. Its wing had been torn by an ambitious lion cub during a playful wrestling match. 

“Again?” Hermione looked up from her desk where she had been doing the monthly accounts. Who knew Occumies were so expensive to feed. “That sanctuary in Nepal had to be shut down last week because the Muggle government decided it was right in the middle of their blasting zone.”

“I heard the same happened at the Burmese border. We should look at some land in Mozambique.”

Hermione shook her head. “They’re still finding landmines everywhere.”

“So I guess Mildred is staying a little longer?” Charlie jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to point at the Runespoor in the enclosure outside.

“It’s just ridiculous that we can’t get these creatures homed as fast as we should.”

“Pets are hard work, Hermione. Not everyone can give them the attention they deserve.” Charlie was being reasonable and it irritated Hermione because she liked to think she was the reasonable one.

A pathetic meow echoed outside the window closest to her desk. Hermione opened the window and stuck her head out. “Not today, you greedy little coward. Either you come in and stay or you’re not getting any food.”

“What is it with that cat?” Charlie had moved to the sofa and the dragon was now nestling in his lap. 

“I don’t know. I feed it and offer it a space in the back for the night, but all it does is steal my ham sandwich and disappear. Ungrateful git.”

“Maybe it’s not fond of the other cats?”

“I’ll have you know the rest of the cats are delightful.” 

Mrs. Potts, a fat, fluffy ginger cat suddenly launched herself onto Hermione’s desk and proceeded to push her quills off the desk one by one. Jinxy, a miniature black cat, sat on the floor, listlessly pushing the fallen quills around the floor while Sabre, a Maine Coon crossed with an African Blackfoot, pounced on the rejected quills.

The meow came again, this time from the window box.

“Stop trampling my lemongrass, you ingrate,” complained Hermione, opening the window to scold the cat. It simply ducked under her arm and jumped into the room, skittering towards the feeding room before anyone could stop it.

“Guess it was hungry?” Charlie asked as Hermione stared dumbly at the patch of flattened lemongrass. The baby dragon purred and belched, setting Charlie’s sleeve on fire. He calmly patted out the flames and continued to stroke the dragon into a doze.

“Charlie, I don’t want to be the pessimist here, but if we don’t get more funding, we’re going to have to close.”

“Ah, ‘Mione, it’ll be fine.”

“No, you don’t understand. If Bingley gets her way, she’ll close the entire Department of Magical Animals, meaning there will be no funding for anyone. She’s already got a list of Social Improvement groups she wants to target. Claims there isn’t enough money to support a bunch of useless animals when the Wizarding World has bigger needs.”

“Maybe this is something you can fight if you go back?”

The look Hermione gave Charlie could have peeled the forest green Victorian wallpaper from the walls. 

There was a sudden clang followed by various cats growling and screeching at each other. A white blur shot through the room and out the window.

“...and stay out!” Hermione called after it. “Stupid bloody cat. Bugger, I’m going to be late. Charlie don’t forget--”

“--to lock all the gates. It happened one time, ‘Mione, you don’t need to remind me every day.”

“That one time nearly cost us an arm and a leg.”

“Don’t tell me - I still limp when it’s cold.”

* * *

Tiffany Bingley had plans. Big plans. The kind of plans that saw her complete her Hogwarts education in a mere six years and her apprenticeship within the Ministry of Magic in only one. Ambitious was too small a word to truly describe Bingley’s pursuit of power. 

The youngest Minister of Magic was her goal and by Merlin, Morgana and Mordred, she was going to achieve it.

After all, her motto was  _ The Ends Justify The Means  _ and she embraced every letter of it.

There was, however, a bushy-haired speed bump on her path to greatness and it was currently sitting in front of her office as she arrived.

“I didn’t know they were allowing the general rabble into the Ministry before seven these days,” she pinned Hermione with a haughty look. “Or are you simply lost?”

Hermione rose from her seat beside Bingley’s office door and brushed down her Sensible Professional Office Pantsuit. “I was looking for the Department of Magical Creatures, usually on the second floor of the basement, but there was a sign that they had moved. The witch in the Atrium pointed me here.”

“Unless you’re an unregistered Veela, I don’t see what business you have with that Department,” replied Bingley, crossing her arms.

“My business with them is my own. Could you just tell me where they have been moved to?”

“Oh come on, like I would do anything to help Hermione Granger. You leaving the Ministry has been the best thing to happen to this place, so I am not about to assist you in wiggling your way back in here. You have no idea the amount of chaos you caused, which I have to fix.”

Hermione had spent most of her life dealing with...people like Bingley, and she had learned long ago you only punched them when the rope they’d hung themselves with was around their necks. 

And yet…

The urge to smack that perfectly done up face was more tempting than her favourite cranberry muffins at the coffee shop in Finchley.

Hermione took a calming breath, plastered a smile on her face and nodded. 

“I see I was misinformed about the directions. I’ll find my own way, thank you.”

Hermione's passiveness, while interpreted as weakness, was anything but. As she walked away, she already had a twenty step plan on how to send Bingley exactly where she belonged: Hell.

* * *

That night, after tracking down the Department of Magical Creatures in the sub-basement level of the Ministry and putting her case forward for a massive fundraising drive, Hermione embarked on the Wizarding World equivalent of googling Bingley. 

She pulled out every back issue of The Quibbler and Daily Prophet she owned. She was a temporarily perturbed by her collection and how far back it dated, but for now, it was exactly what she needed to dig up dirt on Tiffany sodding Bingley.

Armed with a pair of scissors, she scoured the pages for any mention of the cow.

She was in the middle of cutting out a small write up of Bingley’s fourth year Yule Ball at Hogwarts when scratching at her door caught her attention.

Looking through the keyhole, she saw her doorstep was empty. It was probably just her imagination. She stepped away, only for the scratching to return, followed by a familiarly pathetic mewl.

“How the hell did you end up here?”

The white cat that haunted her menagerie was on her doorstep and it looked a right mess. Its white fur was more pink with scarlet streaks around its hindquarters. It meowed softly before limping across her threshold.

“Oh, yes, do come in. Uninvited,” she muttered as she closed the door.

The cat dragged itself to her bathroom and lay on her new, fluffy white bath mat, not caring that it was staining it red.

Hermione followed it and knelt down, opening her bathroom cabinet to pull out some first aid supplies.

“I take it you haven’t endeared yourself to the local alley cat population, have you?”

She carefully examined the cat from head to tail for wounds. She found only one. It was a nasty gash across the left back leg. She soaked a facecloth in hot water and began to gently clean the wound, the cat hissing and growling as she worked.

“Oh hush now, you only have yourself to blame,” she gently scolded the cat. “Don’t move.”

She grabbed her wand from the table and returned to the cat. Hermione whispered “Valeria Noxus,” and the cat fell asleep. With some deft wand work and some charms, the cat was cleaned and bandaged in no time.

“Valeria Lumina,” she finished off and the cat blinked its eyes, slowly coming back to consciousness. The thing about spells for witches and wizards? They tend to have slightly longer-lasting side effects on animals. So when the cat woke up, it was a little woozy.

In other words, the cat was as stoned as a Hufflepuff after NEWTs.

Her kitchen clock helpfully informed her that it was almost two in the morning and she should go to bed. Hermione embraced her rebellious streak, refusing to be dictated to by a clock and made a pot of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. For she, Hermione Granger, had a mission to complete.


	2. My Apologies to John La Carre

“ ‘Mione, I love you. You know I do. But there’s a very good reason why I work with animals.”

Charlie was sitting at Hermione’s desk at the menagerie, looking over Hermione’s fundraising proposal. 

“Charlie, it’s really easy. All you need to do is floo call the witches and wizards on the list and get them to agree to either come to the fundraiser, or at least leave a donation.” Hermione was checking her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun and she was dressed in a black pantsuit with an emerald green silk blouse. Charlie wanted to mention how much she looked like Professor McGonagall, but chose instead to complain about his role in the fundraiser.

“But why can’t you do it?”

She gathered up her file and handbag. “I have some errands to see to.”

As Hermione turned towards the door, a familiar meow echoed from the kitchen. “Charlie, please keep an eye on that cat. I’ll be by later to take him home. Make sure he doesn’t cause a ruckus or hurt his leg further”

“The only ruckus will be me trying to floo people. How about _ I _ see to the errands and _ you _floo these people.”

“Oh come on Charlie, to them you’re a celebrity. The Charlie Weasley who wrestles with dragons? You’ll have them buying out tables and becoming patrons in no time.”

Before Charlie could raise another excuse, Hermione ran out the door.

* * *

When Hermione arrived at Harry’s office in the Auror Department of the ministry, he looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon.

“Performance appraisals?” Hermione dropped her bag into the empty seat in front of Harry’s desk and then perched on the edge, moving his “Greatest Dad Ever” mug filled with ballpoint pens.

“Budget,” muttered Harry, not looking up from the calculator he had smuggled in years ago to help him with the department budgets.

Hermione tilted her head. “But budgets aren’t due until February,” she said, leaning further over the desk to see what his figures looked like. “It’s only November.”

“Yes, well,” Harry leaned back, running both his hands through his hair and not doing anything to help control the chaos it had descended into. “Some little upstart upstairs has mentioned to the Minister that the Auror Department does not make a profit and should therefore not be entitled to a Yule bonus.”

Hermione blinked in surprise. “That’s…” she wanted to say ridiculous. She wanted to say that aurors worked really hard and deserved a Yule bonus. She wanted to say that the point of the ministry wasn’t to make a profit but to look after the Wizarding community.

“Bingely,” is what she said instead.

“Bless you,” said Harry absentmindedly, looking at the parchments on his desk. “Do you think, if I reduce our quill requests, I can squeeze out enough for the Unspeakables?”

A poster on the wall behind Harry caught her eye. “Malfoy’s missing?”

This caught Harry’s attention and he sat up. “Yeah, about three weeks now.”

“How didn’t I know about this? I thought it would be all over the Prophet.”

“His mother wanted it kept out of the public eye.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s probably on a bender in Ibiza with Blaise.”

“A three week bender? Come on Hermione. I know you two-” he made a vague rolling motion with his wrist which could mean anything really “- but I doubt Draco would be able to maintain a bender for three weeks. Maybe a week. At most. Everyone is really worried.”

She noticed how Harry almost sank in on himself. “He’s not on a bender, is he? Because he was on assignment for you.” Her eyes widened as she talked through her realisation. “You made him an Unspeakable. You think he’s dead.”

At this point, Hermione was certain that Harry would sink under his desk and curl up into a ball. He looked green with guilt. “It wasn’t supposed to go this badly. He was just making use of his access and he hasn’t reported back to me in a while.”

“I can’t believe you actually hired Draco Malfoy to do a job for you. You, of all people, know how utterly unreliable he is. And to make him a spy? Of all things? Harry, I knew getting you that Jack Ryan box set was a mistake.”

“That’s not fair Hermione. He was the best person for the job. Just because he-” He bit off his words at the look she threw him and swallowed hard. “Why are you here? I thought you were busy at the menagerie."

“I need to see some files.” Her eyes flicked up towards the ceiling pointedly.

“You know you can’t access those files.”

“I wouldn’t ask unless it was life or death.”

Harry glanced around his office and crossed his arms on his desk. “I understand your menagerie is important Hermione. Let me buy you a cuppa and you can tell me how I can help.” 

* * *

Harry led Hermione through the Leaky Cauldron, out into Muggle London. He made them catch three different cabs, two buses and detour from King’s Cross to Canary Wharf up to Camden, across to Spitalfields before ending up in a coffee shop in Primrose Hill.

“Quite the scenic route,” Hermione commented after she’d ordered the biggest black coffee they had on offer. Harry settled for a cup of tea and a slice of chocolate cake.

“My office has ears but so do I. There are whispers about someone trying to change the Ministry. Bingley.”

Hermione nodded. “That’s a name that seems to be giving me grief too. I just wanted to do some research on how to eradicate this particular strain of pest.”

“Unfortunately, this pest is a spider and her web is thickest upstairs.”

“Keeping her secrets closest to her.” Hermione sipped her coffee and stared in amazement at Harry’s ability to finish a slice of cake in three bites. It was sad that the abused boy under the stairs came out whenever there were treats around. “How well do you know this spider?”

Harry shrugged. “She tends to send minions with messages. Never gives direct orders to me, keeps her hands clean and can claim plausible deniability should feathers get ruffled.”

“She said she was cleaning up my mess.”

“Sod her. When you were there things ran as well as could be expected. You actually care about people. She wants power. Why is it that every ten years there has to be some kind of megalomaniac that comes out of the woodwork? It is the moon? Alignment of the stars?”

“What else do you know about her?”

“Nothing. We were looking into her, but we can’t find a thing other than what she wants us to find.”

“Why would the Aurors look into her in the first place?”

“She targeted the Department of Magical Creatures. That makes her a bully.” Harry didn’t need to say he didn’t like bullies. Everyone knew that. 

Hermione nodded at his statement before taking a sip of her drink. Harry sighed and leaned forward. “Look, I’m not going to tell you to stop looking, but I need you to be careful. With Malfoy missing, we need to assume the worst and I don’t want to add your picture to my wall.”

“You really think he’s dead?” She swallowed around the lump in her throat.

He leaned back, curling in on himself. “We haven’t found a body, but the odds are not in his favour.”

“Do you know where he kept his notes?”

Harry shook his head. “Not in his desk and we can’t get into the Manor. Sorry ‘Mione, I wish I could give you more.”

“That’s okay Harry. I promise I’ll be careful.”

When they left the coffee shop, it was in opposite directions and at different times. Hermione would never admit it to anyone, but she was actually enjoying her turn at playing a spy.

* * *

The cat leapt onto the table as soon as they exited her Floo. Hermione shrugged it off and went to change into something more comfortable. When she returned to the living room, it was staring at the newspaper cuttings she’d left there the night before.

“One would think you were actually reading those,” she mused as she went to turn on the kettle. The cat meowed softly, it’s paw resting on an article. “What have you got there?” Hermione gently pried it from the cat and pulled it closer. The cat shook its head, trying to dislodge the cone she’d transfigured from a coaster from around its neck. “Stop that. It’s to stop you from licking yourself.” She swore the look it gave her was the feline equivalent of deadpan.

The article only had the briefest mention of Bingley. Instead, it spoke of the death of renowned wizarding philanthropist Archibald Wigglebush (Hermione was not proud of herself for giggling at his name, but deep down, weren’t they all thirteen-year-old boys?). Wigglebush had been found dead in his study, which had been locked from the inside. The Healer’s had ruled it an aneurysm brought on by a snuff habit. Hermione didn’t know much about snuff, only that it was the ash of various herbs mixed together. Usually, it contained fennel and willow bark, but unless his snuff was laced with belladonna or maybe a Muggle drug, it shouldn’t trigger an aneurysm. Bingley was mentioned as one of his relatives who was mourning the loss of her favourite uncle.

Which struck Hermione as odd, as Wigglebush was as far ideologically from Bingley as one could get.

Maybe this was it? A murder in a locked room. 

Oh goodie.


	3. We Should Have A Research Montage

Charlie had no idea how popular he actually was with the Wizarding Elite. And by that he meant a certain demographic amongst them, being witches of a certain age with a lot of money.

His list of patrons read like the Who’s Who of wizarding society. He had been receiving floo calls from not only England, but as far away as New Zealand and Singapore. 

He had just finished a call with the Patchapornpravits of Bangkok when Hermione walked into the Menagerie. A familiar white feline head stuck out the top of her handbag.

Charlie raised his eyebrows as Hermione placed her handbag on the table and the cat wandered out, trying not to catch it’s cone on anything.

“Ignore him,” she said to Charlie. “How is it going with the fundraising?”

“I think my salary reflects how underappreciated I am around here,” he teased and handed her the donation list. Hermione’s eyes grew wide as she read the list.

“How is this even possible?”

“Weasley charm, of course.”

“Charlie, this is enough to reopen the Department and keep our doors open for at least two years. You are a bloody legend. Have you booked the venue yet?”

Charlie’s smirk dropped slightly. “Venue?”

“For the fundraiser.”

“Oh, right. Right. On top of it. Yep.”

“And all the rest? Caterers? Band? Raffle prizes?”

“...all arranged. Not a thing to worry about.”

“Good. Good. I have some errands to run today. Can you cover everything?” Hermione absently looked around the office before grabbing her handbag.

“Yes. Everything is totally under control. Off you go.” Charlie basically shooed her out the door then turned to find the white cat sitting on his desk. “Don’t look at me like that. Everything is totally under control.”

If cats could snort derisively, it would have done exactly that. Instead, it came out like a choked sneeze.

“Shut up.” Charlie snapped and got to work making a new list of venues to book.

* * *

/p>

Hermione shouldn’t have been surprised that the Wigglebush file had mysteriously disappeared from the Auror archives. The leading Auror on the investigation had also not been available having won a large inheritance and was spending it on the Amalfi coast. The healer that confirmed the cause of death had succumbed to a heart attack a few months ago. It seemed anyone connected to Wigglebush had met some unfortunate end.

Except Bingley.

But there was no proof. Just hearsay and rumours, which Hermione couldn’t use against her.

With this dead end, Hermione headed back to the menagerie. She felt slightly bad offloading the fundraising onto Charlie and decided she should pull her weight and help.

When she walked through the Floo into the menagerie, the white cat leaped off the table and skidded to a stop at her feet. It meowed, looking up at her, as if to whine about how she dared leave it alone with Charlie.

“He’s quite helpful,” said Charlie standing up from the table, and stretching his back.

“Only you would find a cat helpful,” she stepped around the feline and headed to the kitchen to turn on the kettle.

“Get all your errands done then?” Charlie scooped up the cat and cuddled it. The cat went limp, resigning itself to its fate in Charlie’s arms.

“In a way. How are we doing with the fundraiser?” She pulled down two mugs and dropped a tea bag in each one.

“Swimmingly,” Charlie lowered the cat to the floor and joined Hermione at the kitchen counter.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help.” She bit her lip, urging the kettle to boil faster.

Charlie shrugged, pouring some milk into his mug. “I’m sure whatever has you running around is just as important. My dad floo’ed earlier. I think something is wrong at the office. He just asked how we were doing and then I think someone walked into his office because he just ended the call. Usually, he’ll talk for ages.”

Hermione heard the kettle pop off and she poured the water into the mugs. “That does sound odd.” 

Inside she was giddy. The Department of Muggle Affairs seemed the obvious next target for Bingley. She wanted to abandon her tea and rush to the Ministry, but she felt obliged to stick around and pretend life was normal. Only, Malfoy was missing. Harry was scared. Arthur was nervous. Life wasn’t normal and she had to fix it.

She forced herself to sit down with Charlie and go through the preparations for the fundraiser. They chose the entertainment for the night, the menu and swapped ideas on a raffle prize. The white cat had settled itself on her lap, its head poking over the edge of the table looking like a tulip thanks to the cone. 

“I swear that cat actually understands what we’re talking about.” Charlie pointed out.

Hermione shrugged. “Now, remember, we can’t seat the Thai Ambassador and his wife close to any of the delegates from Africa. The wife still on their shit list for that blackface incident last Halloween. She also pissed off the Japanese princess. Maybe put them at the table with the Canadian Ambassador Mary Anne Combs. She will diplomatically educate them about racism.”

* * *

By the time Hermione got home, white cat in tow, she was exhausted. The newspaper clippings littering her kitchen table seemed like a silent accusation that she was procrastinating and had a murder to solve, a megalomaniac to depose and an ex-boyfriend to find.

Sodding Malfoy. Getting himself mixed up in all this and possibly ending up on the wrong end of an Avada.

It was as if he felt he always had something to prove. She’d warned him against joining the Aurors. It would just be asking for trouble. He was safer running the family business. He was good at it. Malfoy had learned to read people, figure out their motives and use it to his advantage. That wasn’t a reason to run off and become a spy.

“He is such an idiot,” she muttered. She was going to find him, and if he wasn’t dead, she was going to kill him herself.

* * *

The next morning was a Saturday and instead of enjoying a lie-in with some fried eggs and toast for breakfast, Hermione gasped awake. Her heart was pounding and her hair was damp with sweat.

She scrambled out of bed, dislodging the cat where it had curled up by her feet, and ran into the kitchen. With a wave of her wand, she began laying out the newspaper clippings in the air to form a sort of murder board that hovered over the table. The cat padded in after her, meowing.

“What does one need to commit a murder?”

The cat meowed.

“Exactly. Motive, means and opportunity. So, how did Bingley kill Wigglebush? Why did she kill him? Where can I find proof?”

By now, the cat had launched itself onto the table via a chair and was pawing at the various pages floating above it. 

“Stop that! We need to think. What would Bingley have gained from murdering her uncle? What has that got to do with her crusade to close the Department of Magical Creatures? Who can I ask without ending up dead?”

The cat meowed and pawed at an article. 

“What? Will you stop that? I’m trying to figure this out.”

The cat repeated his pawing and meowing. Hermione took a closer look at the article. It was a brief write up of Bingley being promoted to a diplomatic role for the Ministry and that she was being seconded to the ministry branch in South Africa. She glanced down at the cat. 

“That’s not very helpful. What’s her posting got to do with killing her uncle?”

Hermione needed more facts. Ones that she won’t find in the press. She had to start shaking some trees and examining what fell down.

“But who do I start with?”

The cat almost looked offended and shook its head at her. It jumped off the table, heedless of the wrappings on its hindleg or the cone around its neck, and headed into her living room. On a shelf of her sagging bookcase, hidden amongst the stacks of books, was a frame containing a photo she didn’t look at often. The cat sat in front of the bookcase and meowed. 

Hermione ignored him, staring at the murder board instead, willing it to cough up answers with the power of her mind.

The cat continued to meow, trying to get her attention. Finally, it clumsily climbed the bookcase and pushed the photo frame to the ground. The shattering of glass pulled Hermione to the living room.

“Why?” she asked it, kneeling down to clean up the debris. The cat intervened, meowing frantically. “What is your problem?” The cat nudged her cheek with its cone, it’s silver eyes wide.

Silver eyes.

Similar silver eyes looked at her from the photo as she smiled widely under the summer sun. White blonde hair that matched the colour of the fur on the cat in front of her.

“Malfoy?” 


	4. Please Brush Your Teeth After Licking Your Balls

“Malfoy?” She whispered, convinced she was losing her mind. The cat meowed and nodded, gently pawing at her hand.

Hermione reared back, landing on her butt. The cat tentatively slunk closer, placing a paw on her knee. “So, you’re not dead. You’re just a cat now.”

The cat meowed.

Hermione rolled her eyes and got to her feet. “No. No way. I’m just hallucinating from the stress. You-” she pointed at the cat “- are not Draco Malfoy. You’re just some street cat that- that-” She began to stutter. The cat started showing up round about the same time Malfoy disappeared. “That’s impossible.”

Or was it?

The cat stayed at her feet, using its paw to push at the broken shards of glass in the photo frame. It kept looking from the photo to her and meowing, each utterance seemingly more urgent than the last.

“Draco?” 

The cat meowed, stepping into her space and standing up on hind legs, front paws grabbing at her jeans. Its silver eyes staring at her.

“Oh fuck me.” Hermione ran to the kitchen and grabbed her wand. “Revelio.”

A ghostly spectre rose from within the cat and it resembled a very pissed off Malfoy. “Fix this,” mouthed the spectre before retreating back into the cats body.

“ Finite Incantatem ,” Hermione commanded.

Nothing happened. Her hands went to her hips and she stared the cat down. “Only you could be turned into a cat with a spell I can’t instantly reverse.”

Malfoy meowed.

“Yes, well, I’ll figure it out. I have to do some research. Just… don’t lick yourself where I can see you.”

The cat gave her a look that she was used to seeing on Draco’s face. Disdain mixed with revolt and some embarrassment. “Don’t even try to lie and tell me you didn’t enjoy being able to lick your bollocks.”

Then she remembered the last words she’d shouted at him as she was throwing his clothes out the bedroom window. It had been to, uh, succinctly, go fuck himself. Seems now he could. In a way.

She floo called Harry.

“It’s late so someone had better be dead,” he grumped through the flames.

“I found Malfoy.”

“I’ll send the Aurors to collect the body in the morning.”

“There’s no body to collect. He’s alive.”

“Oh brilliant. This couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Well, he’s been turned into a cat.”

Harry needed a few minutes to get himself together after laughing his arse off. “A cat? Are you serious?”

Hermione picked Malfoy up from where he had settled onto the couch and held him up to Harry.

“It looks like any other cat to me, but if you say it’s Malfoy, I’ll take your word for it. But now that you mention it, he does have that look about him.” The cat twisted itself out of Hermione’s arms and dropped to the floor.

“Boredom with a side of disdain?”

“Exactly.”

“Harry, I don’t think other curse breakers will help and word will get around that he’s still alive - it could end badly. I’ll just keep looking for a cure. Oh, by the way, heard any rumours coming from Arthur’s department? He seemed a bit on edge when he spoke to Charlie earlier.”

“”Mione, it’s late. I’m too tired to talk office gossip with you right now. How about I come over to you for coffee tomorrow. Before work?”

Hermione nodded and ended the call. When she turned around, Malfoy was back on the sofa, hind leg in the air and mouth poised above his bits.

“Ergh,” groaned Hermione and went to bed. 

Malfoy lowered his leg and sighed.

* * *

Harry was used to walking into all sorts of situations when it came to Hermione, so it really shouldn’t have surprised him to arrive through her Floo the following morning, carrying two extra large coffees ,to find her living room covered in open books, her hair in a state and the cat looking ready to scratch someone’s face off.

The cat that was evidently Malfoy.

“Morning,” Harry leaned over to give Hermione a peck on the cheek and place one of the cups of coffee on the table next to her. He then sank into a wingback chair to her left. Hermione barely acknowledged him.

Malfoy slunk towards Harry and stood on his hind legs, front paws resting on Harry’s knees. He let out a growling mewl and shook his head, banging the cone still around his neck.

“I guess if you really are Malfoy, I can take this off and you’ll know not to lick your stitches.”

The cat harrumphed and shook his head again. Harry carefully removed it.

“Nothing!” Hermione slammed the book on her lap shut and had she been less worried about her books, she would have lobbed it across the room. “I’ve gone through all the counter curses I could. Latin, Greek, Sanskrit, even Welsh! Nothing has worked.” She pointed a finger at the cat. “Only you would get cursed in a language that doesn’t exist.”

Harry couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that pushed its way out of his chest. “Oh Merlin. Of all the things I considered, Malfoy being turned into a cat was not one of them.”

The cat meowed and Harry burst out laughing. Every time he thought he got control of it, he glanced at the cat and started laughing again.

“No, Harry. It’s not funny…” Hermione caught the giggles and was soon leaning against Harry laughing hysterically.

The cat was not amused and decided to avoid the laughing hyenas by taking a spot on the kitchen table and examining Hermione’s murder board.

It took a good while for the two to calm down enough to just little hiccoughs. 

“Well, that’s the good news of the day. Malfoy is alive.” Harry sipped his cooling coffee.

Hermione shot a glare at the cat. “For now. What did you hear about the Muggle Affairs situation?”

“Bingley is pushing them the same way as the Magical Creatures team. Claims we shouldn’t be wasting money on a department that doesn’t do anything anyway. I mean, she phrased it more politically, but that was the gist of her press release. Obviously, it didn’t have her name on it, but it came from a concerned group within the ministry.”

“Oh dear.”

“Problem is, unlike your old team, Muggle Affairs is headed by Cillian Avon and from what the grapevine says, Cillian went into a meeting to save the department and left singing praises about the change.”

“He rolled over like a dog and got his stomach petted. That sounds like blackmail or a pay off.”

“I’d go with blackmail. Avon is living off a healthy inheritance from his Muggle grandfather.”

Hermione sank back onto the sofa in a slouch, her head resting on the back edge, looking up at the ceiling. “But why? That’s what I keep coming back to. Motive. The saving money spiel doesn’t ring true, you know? Nothing in her education suggests that she had any interest in economics. So why is she really doing all this?”

“Puritanical ideology?”

“Oh, ten points to Gryffindor for use of big words,” Hermione teased.

“Here’s two small words then; sod off. Besides, I think she’s muggle-born anyway, so I don’t think it fits.”

The cat meowed from the table causing Hermione to sigh. “I have a feeling if I can get him turned back, he’ll have the key to all this.”

“I feel there’s a ‘but’ at the end of that.”

Hermione smiled widely. “But karma is a bitch.”

* * *

When Hermione ran out of languages, she tried potions. Malfoy was no longer a white cat, per se, but instead had multicoloured splotches all over his fur, as if a prism was reflecting off his body. 

Malfoy had gone through the stages of being cursed. Denial, anger, hunger, irritation and was now heading towards resignation and acceptance.

Hermione was starting to slowly lose her patience. She began entertaining ideas of dragging Bingley from her office by her perfectly tied bun and forcing her to turn Malfoy back. 

“I should just leave you as a cat. You’ll be less trouble that way,” she muttered, feeding him some pieces of ham as she made herself a sandwich. Malfoy nudged his nose against her cheek softly where he sat on the counter. “Don’t try to butter me up. That’s a long overdue apology which means nothing now.” Malfoy nudged her again. Hermione felt her eyes prick with tears and abandoned her sandwich as she fled to her bedroom.

Malfoy hadn’t just broken her heart. He had ripped it out of her chest, dropped it on the ground and danced on it until it had been nothing but a smear on the road.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

All she wanted was the two of them to be happy together, but no, Malfoy had decided he needed to be a hero in order for her to really love him. Which was stupid. Hermione didn’t want to be in love with a hero. They had short life spans and if she was being completely honest with herself, she wanted Malfoy in her life for as long as she could have him. She just couldn’t support his suicidal quest to prove himself worthy of her and to the world at large.

Hermione fell asleep with tears in her eyes and a hollowness in her stomach. 

* * *

Hermione woke up from a dead sleep and was stumbling to the living room before her eyes had fully opened. 

“Bantu! How the heck could I have forgotten Bantu?” She lurched to the sofa, looking around for him. “Malfoy, where are you? I think I’ve got it!”

Malfoy slunk in from the guest room. “Of course you’d make yourself comfy in the guest room,” she rolled her eyes. “I think I have it and I’m embarrassed I forgot about it. Bantu! African languages! That’s why you pointed out that article. Thing is, there are twelve languages, so I need to try twelve incantations. You up for it?”

Malfoy nodded.

“Right. Let’s see, where did I put that book? Ah, here it is!” she paged through the tome of African mythology and stopped on a page.

“Right. Swahili, because that’s the most common one. Ahem.  _ Acha ujinga huu.” _

Malfoy meowed.

“Fuck. Okay, let’s try--” she turned a few more pages in the book. “Xhosa? Oh dear. The clicks might be a bit difficult. Did you hear any clicks when they cursed you?”

Malfoy merely huffed.

“I guess not. Uh-” more pages were turned and scanned. “Shona?  _ Kumisa izvi zvisina musoro” _

No human Malfoy sprung forth.

“Oh for...” Hermione paged through the book frantically. “Alright. Third time must be the charm, right? _ Thibela sena se sa utloahaleng _ ? No? This is just embarrassing now. Okay, last one.  _ Aibho! Yekisa lobuhlanya!” _

There on her floor sat a very naked Draco Malfoy.

“How hard is it to figure out it was supposed to be Zulu?” he groused as he stood and walked into her bedroom. “I showed you the article that said she was stationed in South Africa. Zulu is the language of magic there, just like we use Latin for ours. Come on Granger, you’re getting rusty in your old age.”

He returned wearing an old t-shirt and pair of pyjama pants he’d left behind. Hermione promptly smacked him across the face before wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

“Nothing rusty about your right hook,” he muttered as he pulled her tighter against his chest and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you.”

“I want to strangle you,” her voice was muffled.

“Let’s string up Bingley and then I’ll let you kill me, okay?” he felt her nod against his chest and he should have stepped away, but by Morgana he missed having her in his arms. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” she replied.


	5. Tying Up Loose Ends And Eating Pie

The next morning, after a quick floo call to Charlie and then to Harry, Draco took over the kitchen.

“I haven’t had a decent meal in weeks, Granger.”

Harry joined them at the flat and he and Hermione sat on the sofa, watching Malfoy scarf down eggs, toast, and sausages. He noticed their scrutiny as he raised the third sausage to his lips.

“What?”

“Well?” Harry prompted him. “What happened?”

“From where I’m sitting? An awful lot of shit,” Draco took a bite of the sausage.

Hermione couldn’t sit still. She jumped up and went to the murder board. “Was I at least on the right track?”

Draco shrugged. 

“What was that for?” She turned to him, arms akimbo.

“I’m not investigating Bingley, Wigglebush or anything to do with them.”

Harry sank deeper into the sofa as he felt Hermione’s glare on the back of his neck.

“Please can either of you explain what that meant?” Her words were sharp and cold.

Malfoy swallowed his piece of sausage. “On a scale of one to setting my clothes alight, how mad would you be if I told you it was classified?”

Hermione began to tap her foot and narrowed her eyes.

Harry, though not eating anything, swallowed loudly. He and Malfoy exchanged a look. Malfoy raised his eyebrows. Harry frowned. Malfoy returned the frown. Harry shook his head. Malfoy took a bite of his toast. Harry sighed.

“Fine,” he conceded. “In the interest of my own continuing existence. Just, can we at least acknowledge that I could lose my job over this."

Hermione waved her hand for him to continue.

"Malfoy came to me wanting to be an Unspeakable. I knew how you felt about it, but I didn’t want to turn down a potential asset, so I put him on an easy case. There’s been a cat thief,” Harry winced and glanced at Malfoy. “Sorry. I heard it as I said it.”

Malfoy simply nodded and made short work of his remaining eggs.

“A cat thief?” Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.

“The rich families were being targeted. Malfoy knew them so he had access to the parties where the cat thief would most likely show up.”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, “Let me see if I understand. You--” she pointed at Malfoy “-- got turned into a cat by a cat thief?”

“No, Bingley did it. I just don’t know why. I was at the Winston’s house party patrolling the upper floors for the stupid thief when I passed by an ajar door, heard someone shriek and suddenly I was furry. Last person I saw was Bingley.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up.

“No.” Harry held up his hands. “This is a classified investigation, ‘Mione. I cannot allow you to go questioning the Winstons.”

“I won’t have to go anywhere. They’re coming to my fundraiser.”

“Speaking of which,” Malfoy took a sip of his tea. “Need a date?”

Harry dropped his head into his hands.

* * *

It took some more convincing to bring Harry around to the idea that the fundraiser would be the perfect opportunity to catch Bingley and the cat thief. He only agreed after Hermione conjured some anti-spell pieces for her and Malfoy to wear. 

“You don’t need a gaudy piece of costume jewellery to hold the charm.” With that, Malfoy disappeared for an hour and returned with a set of formal robes and a velvet case. Inside was an elegant necklace made up entirely of small diamonds linked together in a simple chain. It was barely a quarter of an inch wide. 

“I can’t wear this. It costs more than everything I own.”

“Granger, it was gathering dust in my mother’s safe. Charm the thing, put it on and let’s go catch some bad witches, shall we?”

One could not argue with that logic, so Hermione donned her best little black cocktail dress, charmed her hair into a french twist, put on some red lipstick and floo’d to the fundraiser with Malfoy a step behind her.

Charlie had chosen to host the evening in the Magical wing of the Natural History Museum in London. In the centre hall stood a small stage with the rest of the room taken up by round tables. Along the sides of the hall were displays of long lost Magical Creatures and on one wall hung a banner detailing the struggle for Magical Creatures to be recognised and protected. Notable names on the banner included Newt Scamander and a certain bushy-haired witch. Hermione blushed when Malfoy pointed it out to her.

“Hermione!” Charlie rushed towards her. “I’m so glad you’re here--” he noticed Malfoy standing next to her, his hand low on her back “--with a date!” He took her hand and shot Malfoy a look that was trying for apologetic, but ended up being more confused. “I need to speak to you about the silent auction prizes.”

It amused Hermione to see Charlie act so protective over her when he turned them towards a private alcove and reached a pitch only dogs could hear as he whispered dramatically. “You’re back with Malfoy?” 

“Charlie, let’s focus on the reason we’re here, instead of my ex-boyfriend. If anything goes wrong, I need you to keep the audience calm and don’t let on anything is amiss. Okay?”

“Are you expecting anything to go wrong?”

“I expect the best, but plan for the worst.” She turned to find Malfoy talking to the Swedish Ambassador, Maja, who looked like she stepped off the cover of Witch Weekly. The rest of the guests were finding their tables, greeting each other with air kisses and compliments on their accessories. The waiters were carefully negotiating long dresses and a slippery marble floor as they balanced trays of drinks on their hands. 

With a final nod to Charlie, she waded into the crowd towards Malfoy. With practised ease, he slipped his arm around her waist and pressed a chaste kiss to her temple as she joined him. He also whispered that the Winstons were at table six. All this without seeming to take his interest away from Maja as she explained the importance of herring based exports.

Hermione smiled and quietly excused herself after thanking Maja for attending. Without trying to appear obvious, she took a winding route towards table six.

“I can’t believe Malfoy had the gall to show up tonight,” Betty Winston was sneering at her cousin next to her. “He just left without even thanking us for our hospitality. I tell you, some of these old families are breeding out manners.”

“Was this the same party where your tanzanite bracelet went missing?” Audrey Winston took a dainty sip of her champagne. She wasn’t jealous of her cousin’s bracelet, but it had looked so pretty on her wrist when she’d tried it on all those years ago. Pity her father claimed that tanzanite was for the nouveau riche and his daughter would not be caught dead wearing them.

“Yes. It was!” exclaimed Imelda Winston, Betty’s mother. She gave Malfoy a critical once over, “I heard their fortunes had shrunk, but to steal from his peers? It’s simply rude.”

Hermione nearly gave herself a headache with the eye roll she did upon hearing the exchange. She was about to introduce herself when a familiar face sat down next to Audrey.

“Tiffany! I’m so glad you could come!” Audrey leaned over and gave her an air kiss.

Bingley returned the air kiss and smiled widely at the other occupants around the table, “Oh, you know how I feel about Magical Creatures. Now, what did I miss?”

“That no-good Malfoy boy is here. Possibly looking for another victim to rob,” Imelda sniffed in a way that only the very rich could. If she was a social class lower, someone would have offered her a tissue.

Hermione watched with growing glee as Bingley’s face paled and she looked around the room for Malfoy. Her jaw dropped when she spotted him, now standing near the stage sharing a joke with Jacques Steinberg, the owner of the largest apothecary chain in Europe. Ah, the bait was set. Now to spring the lure.

Hermione took a circuitous route around the tables to where Malfoy was standing, taking a wide berth around the Winston's table.

Malfoy smiled warmly as Hermione stepped up next to him, sliding her hand along his waist and stretching up to kiss him on the cheek.

“Follow me,” she whispered and took his hand. 

Draco didn’t even excuse himself from the conversation, simply allowing Hermione to lead him away from the party. She kept looking at him over her shoulder and giggling.

Wait, Granger has never giggled around him. He raised an enquiring eyebrow at her.

“Now now, no questions,” she teased, glancing over his shoulder. “I can’t wait to get you alone.”

There was a smaller room off the main corridor leading away from the Magical Creatures display towards the Muggle part of the museum. Hermione pulled him into the room by the lapels of his robe. His hands automatically went to rest on her hips. He lowered his head towards her upturned face.

Merlin, he wanted to kiss her. He leaned to close that last gap when things did not go as planned. Hermione ran her hands along his waist, reaching for her wand tucked into Malfoy’s belt. 

She pulled it out as she pushed him to the side, the room lighting up green with an Avada missing his head by inches and leaving a jagged hole in the marble behind him.

"Stupefy!" Hermione reacted quickly catching Bingley as she tried to duck away.

Tiffany Bingley ended up face first on the cold marble floor of the Natural History Museum unable to move.

It happened so fast, Malfoy had to take a few moments to realise Granger was no longer in his arms.

Oh, right. The actual plan to capture Bingley had worked. His own private plan to win back his ex? Not so much.

Hermione sent off her Patronus and within seconds Harry and Stewart Crispin arrived from where they were hiding in the larger gallery, to revive and arrest Bingley for the attempted murder of Draco Malfoy, twice as well as being prime suspect in the death of Wigglebush. Draco left with them to assist with the interrogation without saying goodbye to Hermione. His head hung low as he followed Harry into the Floo and he couldn't catch her eye when she tried to say goodbye. 

Hermione shrugged it off as him being preoccupied with the arrest and went back to the party.

* * *

The Daily Prophet had a field day with the news that week.

_ Hard Times for Heiress! _ The headline almost took up the entire front page.

“Her whole mission was because she needed Wigglebush’s money to fund her campaign to become Minister so she could impose new laws that would prevent Muggle-borns from reentering the Muggle world or keeping contact with Muggle family and friends. They would have to integrate completely into the Wizarding world,” Hermione threw the newspaper on the table in disgust. “You were right, Harry. Another puritanical idealist. When will we ever see the last of them?”

Harry shrugged, mouth full of banoffee pie.

“I knew she’d spiked the snuff with something bad, but to use cocaine? Which, ironically, she bought from a muggle dealer. But the whole thing just leaves a bad taste in the mouth, doesn’t it?”

“Right now I’m tasting caramel, so I can’t complain. But yeah, it’s worrying. I doubt we’ve heard the last of this kind of thinking.”

“I’m sorry you haven’t been able to catch your cat thief.”

“We did! Sorry, I forgot to tell you. Malfoy figured it out. Was Audrey Winston all along. Apparently, she just liked sparkly things. She returned everything and as much as I want to, I can’t arrest someone for being an idiot.”

“Speaking of idiots…” Hermione trailed off.

“He’s around. I haven’t assigned him a new case and I won’t until you two sort your...whatever...out.”

Hermione huffed a laugh. “Then he’s never going to work again.”

There was a knock on the door and Harry quickly stood and moved towards the floo. “You’d be surprised how motivating the idea of unemployment is.” With that, he ducked through the flames.

She opened the door to find a rather dejected looking Malfoy on her doorstep.

“I never thanked you for helping me when I was…”

“A cat.”

He nodded.

“A cat that licked its balls.”

Malfoy shuddered, much to Hermione’s delight. “Yes, well, sometimes I forgot that I wasn’t a cat.”

“That is not a decent excuse.”

“True. But still. Thank you. For everything. Really. I wouldn’t have survived this without you.”

Hermione leaned against her door frame, arms crossed. “How do you feel about banoffee pie?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Might as well come in. I’ve just made a pot of Guatemalan roast coffee.”

Draco Malfoy entered Hermione’s flat and stayed.

The End 


End file.
